Stand Here Beside Me in the Crumbling Walls
by guineapiggie
Summary: "He stared at the cursed building, his fingers fondling the cigarette lighter in his pocket." The Doctor returns to the orphanage in Florida. Inspired by Coldplay's "A Rush of Blood to the Head". WARNING: Pretty dark one.


**Stand Here Beside Me in the Crumbling Walls**

_I'm gonna buy this place and burn it down, I'm gonna put it six feet underground_  
_I'm gonna buy this place and watch it fall, stand here beside me, baby, in the crumbling walls_  
_I'm gonna buy this place and start a fire, stand here until I fill all your heart's desire_  
_I'm gonna buy this place and see it burn, do back the things it did to you in return_

from "A Rush of Blood to the Head" by Coldplay

**_Disclaimer:_**I do not own Doctor Who, nor the song, and once again: How do you own a band?

**_*A/N* I know it's a pretty dark one, but the idea just came to my mind when I listened to the song and it wouldn't go away so I decided to write it down. It might not be everybody's cup of tea, but I do believe there is a very dark side especially to Matt's Doctor (also to the others, but he really let it on sometimes) and it's an interesting thing to explore._**

**_A special thanks goes to LetMeWalkTheEarthWithYou who looked over this beforehand and gave me the courage to post it._**

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The night sky was of a dark, inky blue, clouds suffocating the starlight and the moon merely more than a thin white shadow. He stared at the cursed building, his fingers fondling the cigarette lighter in his pocket. Half-hoping River would never find him.

Doctors fixed things. They didn't do harm to anyone, or anything, and they would never buy a house solely for the purpose of setting the whole damned thing on fire and making it disappear from the face of the earth. They would never want to stand around in the chilly darkness all night, watching as each and every bit of the nightmare turned to ashes.

He was _the Doctor_, after all, and this was all the evidence he needed to prove that tonight he was not himself and he didn't want her to see him like this.

But, of course, River always got his messages, just like he always got hers, even though they went a bit astray sometimes.

And the part of him that still had something akin to moral backbone was glad she was there. Hoping she'd stop him, save him from his demons that were lurking in the shadow.

"What are you doing here, sweetie?"

He flinched at the sound of her beautiful voice. Then he turned around slowly, forcing a smile on his face.

"Why, hello darling." His smile was caving in already. "I'm waiting for you, obviously."

She walked up to him and turned to contemplate the massive, shabby house hovering in the dark.

"The orphanage. I hoped I'd never see the bloody thing again," she muttered, more to herself, then demanded quietly: "Why are you here?"

Another smile crept over his lips, but a very humourless one. "I bought it. So I am right now standing on my very own property, which is well within my rights as an American citizen. Well, at least I pretend to be an American citizen. But I did buy it."

"Really?" His concentration was slipping as it was, what with her standing that close… "And why? You don't need a house, and definitely not a ruin like this."

She was very good at hiding the pain, but he could see it flicker in her eyes for a moment or two and that was all it took to make his conscience give in to the cold, acid fury.

"Not to mention the graffiti," he replied softly and picked up the can. "Why do you think I'm here?"

She gently wrenched it out of his grip. "You don't have to do this for me."

Robbed of the comforting weight, he started playing with the lighter. "I know. I'm doing it for me."

He pulled her close and kissed her, drowning in things he didn't want to feel and his wife the only thing to hold on to, whishing once again he could erase those memories from her mind, yearning for forgiveness. Then he flickered the lighter in front of her eyes with a small smile. "Fancy coming along, Doctor Song?"

She shot a glance back towards the ruin, then her eyes returned to the lighter and, after a moment of hesitation, she returned his smile.

"Not the sort of thing you are supposed to do with your wife, is it, sweetie?"

"Perhaps not."

~o~o~o~

He knew he shouldn't enjoy it this much, but he couldn't help it. This was better than being drunk (plus the fact he didn't have to taste the gruesome stuff). He could hear something shatter next door, River had probably taken the pleasure of smashing a few windows on her way out.

Looking at the floor covered in fragments of glass, wood and china, he wasn't doing much better. In fact he was starting to think he was doing worse, and she was the one who had had to live through that awful childhood in here. He shouldn't let the hate get to his head so much.

He shouldn't risk being this angry.

He knew if he met one of them right now, a member of the Silence or just someone who had not helped, he would kill them. In cold blood. And he would enjoy that, too.

A stinging pain shot through his fingers. He looked down to find he had some pretty nasty cuts there. Also, he seemed to have spilled gasoline over his wounds. Curiously watching his blood run over his fingers, he realized it should be hurting much more, but something had snapped inside his brain. The pain didn't reach him.

The madness and the hate he feared so much finally burning through his veins. He wondered numbly how he was supposed to lock the beast back up now he'd cut it loose.

Soft, warm hands gripped his shoulders. "C'mon, sweetie. Let's get out of here."

~o~o~o~

The adrenaline left him in a rush as soon as the flames sprang to life. He couldn't muster the energy to move. All he could do was stand there and stare blindly into the flames, holding on to his wife's hand for dear life.

"Is it wrong that it's feeling good?" she breathed. She looked so vulnerable.

He couldn't stand to see her like this, God, how he hated the bastards who did this to her.

"Yes," he growled and added with a deadly look on his face: "But I can't say I care."

She turned towards him, gently touching his face that was still distorted by all those feelings he'd kept buried all this time, still with those eyes he knew to be glassy and empty.

"I'm okay, you know?" she whispered. "Not saying I never wished for someone else's life, but I'm alright. I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he replied, quietly, but with a sharp edge to his voice. "You're not. Me neither."

"Sweetie, please just look at me," her voice was almost begging now, she sounded frightened, and her fingers were wrapped almost painfully tight around his hand, "you're scaring me."

It was the unfamiliar fear in her voice that finally made the world focus again in front of his eyes, and he felt the monster crawl back to where it had come from, for now. Other emotions took its place, no less destructive, but at least not to others. He was used to mentally tearing himself to pieces, after all.

"I'm sorry, River," he muttered, running a hand over his face, rubbing over his eyes to get rid of the remains of the fog that had been clouding his vision. "I'm really… it's just… none of this should have ever happened."

She looked at the burning house with a grim satisfaction in her eyes, but a much more peaceful one than his.

"I think I'm over it," she declared firmly after a while.

He watched her, her curls shimmering like fluid gold in the dark and the reflection of the flames burning in her eyes. He would never grasp how the hell he deserved her, but maybe they were made for each other after all - she was the only one strong enough to survive loving him.

They sat on the damp grass for God knew how long, watching the cursed old house glow and smoulder and finally collapse, flames shooting out high into the starless night. She didn't cry - maybe she was just done crying over it all - and he held her and remained silent because he didn't know what he could say.

When the last wall crashed down without a sound, sending sparks into the darkness, he pulled her to her feet.

He couldn't tell whether she was better now, he didn't even know whether he was. But he'd had to try, hadn't he?

The dark orange glow made her hair shine like copper, that sassy, suggestive smile back on her lips as if it had never been gone. She kissed him, and when he kissed her back he knew it was desperate and definitely not as tender as it could have been. His hands left bloody tracks on her skin.

It was his own blood smeared over her arms, chin, neck and cheek, but to him it seemed like the pain he had caused her had decided to become visible and the sight of it broke his hearts a tiny bit more. He wiped the blood away as soon as they got back to the TARDIS, but he knew he was barely scratching the surface.

In the end, no matter how much he tried, he couldn't fix her, and she couldn't fix him, either.

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